A Tale of Two Countries at the Library

by Bill Peak

Once, years ago, Melissa and I went on a long train ride down through
Chihuahua toward Mexico City. It was our first great adventure
together. I remember passing through villages unchanged by time—adobe
houses, dirt roads, stone granaries, no cars. Old men wearing straw
sombreros with tall, pointy crowns sat in the shade and watched us go
by. People travelled by burro or on foot. Instead of trees, there
were tall cactuses with branches that ended in strange club-like
appendages. Whenever the train stopped in a village, children and
adults would climb aboard to sell baked goods and soft drinks.

All of this struck us as quaint and picturesque. We were young and in
love and the world seemed to stand up and sing for us. Then, near
sundown, we came upon a somewhat larger town, a place maybe the size
of Trappe. As our train, shuffling great gouts of steam, huffed into
the station, we noticed several old freight cars sitting on an
abandoned siding at the far end of the yard. You can imagine our
surprise when people began to pour from these cars and run toward us,
each bearing a basket or bucket of goods to sell. Then we noticed the
lines of laundry strung out between the cars like strands of faded
prayer flags. These people lived here. Each of them called a rusting
freight car without running water or electricity home. The smell of
the place was appalling. The look was worse. Yet each of the women
and children that clambered onto our train that evening smiled at us
without a hint of shame or embarrassment. They looked hopeful. They
looked determined. They persevered.

I was reminded of that long-ago train ride by this year's One Maryland
One Book: “The Distance Between Us.” One Maryland One Book is the
program of the Maryland Humanities Council in which people all across
the state read the same book at the same time. “The Distance Between
Us” is Reyna Grande's memoir of growing up in both Mexico and the
U.S.; it is a book divided, as our countries are, between two
monstrously different existences: the one dirt-poor and wretched, the
other—so close, yet so far away—seemingly perfect, ideal. The
children growing up in Reyna Grande's native Iguala believe that on el
otro lado (the other side) money literally grows on trees.

But “The Distance Between Us” is more than just a tale of two
countries and the divide that exists between them, it is also an
exploration of the ties that bind us one to another—human to human,
parent to child, husband to wife. It is a strong and powerful story
simply told. And Reyna Grande is a great heroine. Her determination
to succeed against impossible odds will remind you of other immigrant
stories, may, indeed, remind you of your own family's. Her grit is
quintessentially American; it is what has made our country great. On
Monday, September 8, in the Easton library, and again on Thursday,
September 11, in the St. Michaels branch, I will host a discussion of
Reyna Grande's memoir. She is a lady you will not soon forget. She
will make you proud. But she will also make you nervous. How do we
reconcile the contradictions inherent in her existence and our own?
What do we do with all the Reyna Grandes still out there, still
standing on the wrong side of that imaginary line?